


Unspoken

by williamspockspeare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 5+1, Drunkenness, Episode: s01e25 This Side of Paradise, Fluff, M/M, Specific tags/warnings in notes, T'hy'la, Tarsus IV, angst but it gets better, but like a 5+1 that got super long, mild description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: “If even in dreams, Jim lacked the courage to say the words, when would he ever say it?”Or 5 times Jim Kirk stopped himself from saying I love you + 1 time he didn’t.





	1. In Admiration

He had a terrible habit of putting off reports.

In Jim’s defense, there were about a thousand other problems to worry about other than approving the dilithium refueling, or organizing the transfer lists for next month.

Only this week, for instance, he bluffed his way out of being blasted out of the sky by an undiscovered, highly advanced alien military group, restored a population’s agricultural interstellar trading route, and effectively established, uh, “relations” with the local princess. Not exactly a lot of time to do paperwork. 

Starfleet, however, couldn’t have cared less if the quadrant was saved, provided the documents to prove it weren’t on time.

He was a bit angry with himself. It was only the first year of his first captaincy. As the youngest captain in Starfleet history, he was expected to succeed faster, bigger, and better than anyone ever had, or would. From the looks he got at Starfleet meetings, there was a lot of doubt regarding their youngest member.

Or maybe they’d heard the rumour that he’d seduced half the Alpha quadrant, which was entirely untrue. And a little embarrassing.

He had been top of his class at the Academy. This was his dream, captaining a starship. He hadn’t ever submitted anything in his life less than two days before the due date.

He tried to keep the same, impeccable standards here. But even after writing for hours about crew efficiency, and mission quotas, and interstellar anomaly, there was still one, huge outstanding report on his record. It felt oddly personal.

Try as he might, there was no getting around it. This was his first failure as captain of the Enterprise.

“Lieutenant Uhura, please send a request to Starfleet command to have the Omnicron sector report extended for another three days,” he said over his intership messenger, admitting failure at 2300 hours.

“For the third time, sir?” He could hear her smile in the question.

Jim folded over onto the conference room desk, propping his head up with his hands. “Yes. Word it very nicely.”

“Aye, sir.”

He decided to get it done tonight. He was certain if he sat down and applied himself, he could tackle one report – even if it was a gargantuan size. Nothing stopped James T. Kirk when he was determined, after all.

Then next thing he knew, the doors to the conference room swishing shut were jolting him awake – checking the time display, it was now 0200 hours.

Great.

“Captain.”

“Mr. Spock,” he murmured, absently brushing the evidence of sleep from his face. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be in uniform?”

Indeed, his first officer was dressed to his usual perfection, barely a crease in the blue fabric of his shirt.

Spock raised a dark eyebrow. “No, sir.”

Jim had expected an analysis, so the abrupt answer caught him off guard. Glancing back at him, seeing the flash of humour in his dark eyes, Jim grinned.

“I take it you searched me out.”

“It took no searching.” He tilted his head, probably with enough precision to hit an exact degree. “Have you been working all evening, sir?”

He turned his chair to face Spock. “I would think it obvious that I was sleeping for most of it.”

“It was my mistake, then, captain.”

Jim laughed. “I think you’re teasing me, Mr. Spock. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“You have not asked.”

It was that kind of answer that had sparked Jim’s interest in his first officer so many months before – it hinted at the shrewd chess player, the charming conversationalist that he had discovered beneath the façade of immovable Vulcan logic.

Jim sat back in his chair. He had learned that Spock respected a friendly challenge in return. 

“Like frequenting conference rooms at night, do you?”

Spock inclined his head, the slight smile that Jim secretly delighted in provoking playing at the corners of his lips.

“I did wish to speak with you.”

“About?”

“The Omnicron sector report that was due yesterday at 1900—”

Jim cut him off with a groan. “Don’t tell me you’re here to nag me too.”

“Certainly not. As the term nagging implies a frequent repetition of suggestion, and I have only brought the subject to you once, I do not believe it applies.”

“I was going to write it.” Jim stared at the empty document open on the PADD in front of him. “I will write it.”

“That is not necessary.” Spock nodded once to the PADD. “I wrote the report two days ago, and it has been received and approved by Starfleet.”

Jim blinked. “Two days ago?”

“Correct.”

“But—”

“I apologize if I am tardy in notifying you.”

He shook his head. “Spock, I was supposed to…When did you even have the time?”

Spock folded his hands neatly behind his back.

“I do not possess your responsibilities, captain. In fact, you have taken on an increasing number of them in the past seven point five months.”

“What number, exactly?”

Spock lifted a brow, recognizing Jim’s favourite game of testing his estimation accuracy.

“Thirty two. It follows then that your involvements aboard ship have exacted a measurable cost upon your well-being.”

Jim smiled, not without a little wryness. “You have a knack for phrasing things diplomatically, Mr. Spock. Anyone else would have said I look as if I’d ran into a brick wall.”

“I believe Dr. McCoy expressed as much this afternoon.”

They shared a glance, both recalling the conversation. Jim laughed softly, passing a hand over his face.

“Isn’t there some kind of regulation against writing that report for me?”

“Standard sector reports may be completed and submitted by any competent senior officer. I believe I qualify.”

Jim smiled to himself. “Yes, you do.”

Still, something about the situation bothered him.

“I’d rather have written the report myself.”

“I knew you would refuse should I offer my services. I took the most efficient course available. It was of high probability you would never write it.”

It was stated, as all things were with Spock, quite logically. And he was probably correct. But that didn’t stop Jim from taking it personally.

It meant that Spock hadn’t trusted him to do his work. Maybe Spock thought of him as disparagingly as the rest of the Starfleet brass. That he found Jim inefficient, or perhaps unnecessary.

Jim didn’t like any of those options. Especially not when his opinion of Spock was so high. Why, sometimes, Jim even considered Spock his closest friend.  

The empty report document in front of him, proving Spock right, did not help.

“Well, half the ‘Fleet thinks you do my job for me anyways – I suppose it doesn’t matter if you actually do.” Jim sighed, rising from his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. I’m sure you informed Starfleet of my report writing inefficiency – I’ll work on it.”

“Captain, it was not my intention to suggest—”

“Spock, it’s fine. I’m a little too tired to talk.”

Out of the corner of his eye, gathering the PADD off the table, Jim saw Spock shift slightly on his feet.

“Jim, you are an exceptional officer.”

That gave him pause. Because Spock never used his first name, not unless it was life or death, or something equally important.

Turning to look at him, Jim noticed something different about Spock’s expression, a shift too small for his human eyes to pinpoint, but present nonetheless. Something softer, perhaps.

Spock wet his lips before speaking.

“I have not addressed my regard for you because I thought you might recognize it. As a captain, you are unmatched in your prowess to command effectively, while also succeeding in the establishment of camaraderie and respect amongst your crew. I would hope you are aware that you have my loyalty, and my admiration for your abilities.”

Jim was briefly speechless, and felt silly that he couldn’t find the words in return. If Spock admired him an inch, Jim had miles upon miles to praise in his first officer.

At least, in theory. Because caught in the moment, Jim couldn’t voice how much Spock moved him.  

Jim shook his head.

“I’m flattered.” He wasn’t sure why he chose that word – his cheeks felt a bit warm after saying it. “So, you wrote the report because you admire me?”

“No.” Spock’s gaze was careful, but not distant. “I wrote the report so others may admire you.”

Jim understood. It was one thing to be the man who could pull off daring rescues, and think your way out of tactical traps. It was another entirely to be captain of a consistent, reliable ship, one that Starfleet could count on.

And Spock was helping him be both.

Jim stood for a moment, observing his first officer’s steady posture, his precise, neat features, the delicate warmth of his gaze. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before – he promised himself to do so more often.

“I don’t know what to say.” He smiled, and his hands folded in front of him bashfully, like the first time attending the Academy spring dance. “I am grateful for your confidence, Mr. Spock.”

Spock nodded. “Of course, Jim.”

“Thank you, Spock. Thank you. I…”

The promise of his unspoken words hung in the air for a moment, enough for Jim to realize what they intended to be.

_I love you._

And that was strange. And slightly frightening. Because he had never, ever, thought before about Spock in that way. 

It felt right, though.

He licked his lips, smiled, but did not say it.

“I’m glad to have a first officer I can admire, too.”

He was pleased to see the hint of a smile in return.

 


	2. In Anger

It was supposed to be a routine mission.

The thought was like an incessant drum beat in his mind. This was supposed to be routine. No danger, no life forms, not even the chance of allergies from the plant life.

So how had it happened?

He tried explaining it to Bones. There had been nothing, just the rolling fields of blue alien grasses, the landing party carefully picking their way through to avoid undue damage to the flora.

Why Ensign Johnson had decided to run off, who or what had made Lieutenant Hernandez dissolve into a fine powdered substance, he had put from his mind soon sitting down in Bones’ office.

Stray flecks of green blood still speckled his hands.

The doors to the sickbay swished open – Jim found himself on his feet as Bones strolled through.

“How is he?” The words sounded uncharacteristically afraid, and Jim swallowed hard. “Will he be fit for duty?”

“He hasn’t regained consciousness.” Bones dropped his medical tricorder on his desk, giving Jim a familiar, symptom-scanning glance. “You want a whisky?”

Jim shook his head. It frustrated him that he had no skills to help the situation, and no occupation besides pacing the room.

“This is my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

His hands were practically vibrating, clutched in fists at his sides.

“I’m the captain. If I had been paying attention—”

“If you had been paying attention, then I’d have another patient to worry about. Anyhow, he wanted to examine the atmospheric anomaly, or whatever you said it was. He’s a Vulcan, Jim. You can’t stop them from examining shit, dangerous or not.”

The bottle of whisky he dropped onto the desk was a familiar sight, if usually under lighter circumstances. When two glasses joined it, Jim conceded to sit in the chair Bones gestured to.

“Besides, I’m sure he was happy to leap in front of the damn thing. God knows he likes to play your hero.”

“Bones.”

“Am I wrong?”

Jim clutched the glass of whisky, but didn’t move it.

“If…if Spock doesn’t make it, what am I going to do?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” But Bones reached across the desk and clapped him on the shoulder, firm but compassionate. “We’re doing all we can.”

When he said nothing, Bones stood, and walked around the side of the desk.

“I know you care about him. More than what you’re letting on.”

Jim glanced up at him. Bones gave a sympathetic smile.

“You always go for the intimidating ones, don’t-cha?”

“Very funny.”

“Come on, Jim. That’s not what I meant, and you—”

“Doctor McCoy!”

It was Nurse Chapel, who had rushed into the room. Her cheeks were pink, and she smiled brightly.

“It’s Mr. Spock. He’s fully conscious.”

“What about the poisonous compound?”

“It seems to have resolved itself.” Chapel looked between the captain and the CMO, seeming unsure why neither looked as excited as she. “His vitals are in excellent state too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bones, turning back, made an exasperated gesture. “Didn’t I tell you, Jimbo? The Vulcan wonder strikes again!”

And though Jim smiled, he didn’t think the moment all too wonderful.

Jim remained as Nurse Chapel and Bones filed through to sickbay, taking a sip of whisky.

To say he cared for Spock was a bit of an understatement. Yet any other definition felt strangely futile. 

He knew Spock did not share his feelings, on principle. Therefore a confession, logically, had only one alternative: rejection. To even ask would be foolish.

But it had been foolish to dare the Kobayashi Maru more than once. In a totally logical world, his instincts and gut reactions should have resulted in failure time after time – yet he was succeeding, in both chess and captaining the Enterprise.

He wanted boldness from himself. He wanted to play the odds. Damn the cost, if the reward was great enough, wasn’t that the human spirit?

This wasn’t chess. Love was not strategy, not the kind that lasted beyond a diversionary tactic in a mission. Love was trust, and time, and vulnerability. It had nothing to do with force, or insistence, or hedging bets.

Still, Jim wished the odds were better.

He let enough time pass for an unknown-alien-infection question period, knowing Bones was likely to kick him out of sickbay if he interfered.

Finally, however, he set down his glass, and walked through the doors.

Spock lay quite still, although with his eyes open it was not so disconcerting as it might have been. His hands were folded neatly across his abdomen. Jim imagined he was measuring the physical thrum of his heart against that of the bio-reader above him.

 _Ever the scientist_.

Jim waited until Nurse Chapel exited toward the bio-labs. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt nervous.

“Mr. Spock.”

Dark eyes found his at once.

“Captain.”

Jim moved to his side, ignoring the feeling it was instinctive to do so. It took a conscious effort not to reach for Spock’s shoulder.

“Are you well, sir?”

Jim smiled – it said something that Spock was asking him.

“Yes.”

“May I assume the mission was satisfactorily completed?”

“It was an invisible defense system we walked into – there’s an immense civilization behind that our sensors couldn’t pick up. The locals were very apologetic about our casualties – I assigned Johnson to stay behind, make reports on their culture.”

Spock nodded, a bit weaker than normal. “A fascinating development.”

“I haven’t accepted their apology.”

His gaze narrowed. “Yet you sent Ensign Johnson to remain with them?”

“I meant personally, not professionally.”

It occurred to him that he wasn’t sure what to say. Bones had been right to call Spock intimidating; he was. He was his friend, his confidant, but there remained an anxious distance between them. Something about his sureness, in himself, his logic, his absolute rejection of feeling, told Jim to avoid his own feelings. Particularly those feelings he had towards Spock.

Jim shifted slightly.

“You could have died, you know.”

There was a silence, interrupted only by the beep of Spock’s vitals above them, a reminder that Jim’s fears were unfounded.

Spock sat up slowly. “I was attempting to spare your life.”

Jim nodded, finding it difficult not to let his emotions bleed into his voice. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

“As your first officer, it is my duty to—”

“No. As your captain, it is my duty to ensure _your_ safety, Spock. Don’t argue that sacrificing your life is somehow ethically mandated by regulation because it isn’t.”

Spock’s eyes were fixed upon his. “It was not regulation that influenced my decision.”

“I don’t care what influenced your decision. You still—”

The shaking in his hands was back. Jim turned away, moving to the end of the bed.

“If you keep pulling stunts like that I’m going to have you transferred.”

A slight hum seemed to indicate Spock recognized his bluff.

“That would be an unwise decision on your part, sir. You would, in effect, still forfeit my services.”

Jim felt stinging behind his eyes and resisted the urge to curse under his breath. _Pull yourself together – you think Spock wants to see you get emotional?_

“I don’t like losing crew, Mr. Spock.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t put yourself into high-risk situations.”

“Every officer assumes a high level of personal risk upon accepting their position, captain.” He made it sound absurdly easy to understand, insultingly so. “That is the nature of Starfleet. I do not gamble my personal safety upon a whim. Surely you are aware of that.”

“Spock.” The word broke in mid-air, and Jim squeezed his eyes shut.

Behind him, he heard the covers shifting. “Sir?”

Jim shook his head, demanding the warm press of tears to go away. His nails dug into his palms.

“Are you well?”

Jim hesitated for a long moment.

“I carried you to sickbay.” When it was silent, he pulled his arms tightly across his chest. “You didn’t breathe the whole time – you were so cold.”

He released a breath in a humourless laugh.

“They had to destroy the shirt I was wearing – they couldn’t wash it because it was so stained from your…”

“Jim.”

The word was very quiet, but Jim still felt it in the pit of his stomach. It made him want to turn and embrace Spock, hold him until he was certain he was alive. Jim took a long, steadying breath. 

“I was not the worst casualty. Lieutenant Hernandez was dematerialized. If you wish to grieve for someone, I suggest they would be a more appropriate—”

“ _No._ ”

Something in the word silenced Spock, or perhaps it was the fact that Jim’s eyes were not completely dry as he faced him again.

“I don’t want to grieve for you. Understand?” He was suddenly furious. “Don’t you _ever_ include yourself in a casualty statistic in front of me again. I’m not losing you on any mission, or letting you take a phaser for me, or fucking anything. Don’t you understand? I can’t lose you. I—”

Jim stopped himself short, taking in Spock’s expression. The Vulcan sat perfectly still, his gaze narrowed, analytical – which meant he didn’t understand, not completely. He was not going to say, never mind hiss _I love you_ when Spock was not prepared.

McCoy was probably eavesdropping from the next room, anyhow.

Huffing slightly, frustrated at his own emotional response, he turned aside, swiping at his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“No, captain. I would like to apologize.”

Jim looked back.

Spock folded his hands onto his lap, seeming to approach the apology with sincerity.

“You must understand I am not familiar with the consideration of others feelings in relation to myself. I did not realize that my actions affected you so deeply. I would have refrained from such behavior.” He seemed to form a word, then pressed his lips together, rephrasing. “Believe me, Jim, I did not intend to cause you distress.”

“I didn’t mean to bring emotions into it. I know overt displays of feeling can be uncomfortable for you.”

“Yours were not intolerable.”

Walking to Spock’s bedside, Jim placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Please don’t take any more unnecessary risks on missions. At least for the next week or two.”

Spock considered the touch deeply, but did not comment on it.

“Captain. I can empathize with your concern.” He looked up from beneath his lashes, revealing dark, observant eyes. “I am often troubled by the unnecessary risks you employ both on and off duty.”

Jim laughed, pushed him gently. “Off duty, too? Are you referring to the last shore leave, perhaps?”

Spock raised one eyebrow, in an expression of reproach Jim recognized all too well.

“I did not think your decision to engage in physical combat with an Orion male particularly wise.”

“That was not combat. Arm wrestling is not combat.”

“Your shoulder was nearly dislocated.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Look, mister, that was my business.”

There was a flash of amusement in Spock’s gaze, though his expression suggested that he was entirely above such things.

Grinning, Jim sat on the edge of the biobed.

“And, anyhow, what’s all this talk of being concerned about? Isn’t concern one of those pesky human emotions?”

“‘Pesky human emotions’, as you term them, can occasionally hold some merit.”

“Oh, can they?”

“Indeed.” Spock lowered his gaze suddenly to his lap. “I have no wish to grieve for you either.”

Jim reached forward to touch Spock’s elbow. He smiled softly when Spock glanced up.

“I understand.”

There was a tinge of green to Spock’s cheeks, one Jim hadn’t noticed before. _The virus_ , he thought. _He’d better rest._  

“I’ll see you. Will you be on alpha shift?”

Spock nodded. “Yes, captain.”

It was good to hear. With that, and customary goodbyes, he left.

Walking through Bones’ office, he was greeted with a groan.

“You were in there this whole time? God, this crush of yours is seriously gross.”

“Nothing even happened.” 

“I know! That’s what makes it gross – you’re like a goddamn teenager.”

Jim scoffed, and sauntered by.

“Well, call me when you’ve got a cure for a-cute Vulcan disease, and then maybe we’ll talk. “

As the doors shut behind him, he heard Bones grumble, “I need to get off this ship.”     

 


	3. In-Toxication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Here's where the drunkenness tag applies. But don't worry, only cute drunkenness. Thanks for reading, and much love to those who've left kudos/comments!

“I thought you were supposed to be the one keeping me from getting drunk.”

The cool night air of Tri-Delta 7 was a refreshing change from the heat of its most popular nightclub, from which Jim and Spock had quite literally stumbled out.

Even though leave wasn’t technically scheduled for another month, Jim had managed to convince Starfleet Command to allow a tiny break for his senior officers.

It would have been an excellent two-day trip, but with a sudden distress call from the next planet over, and then the fall out of paperwork, comms with Starfleet command, and attending the subsequent diplomatic dinner, the time for shore leave shrunk to one evening.

It had been his intention to only linger in the nightclub for an hour. Tri-Delta had many attractions, but Spock had spoken highly of the local neo-colour art gallery, so Jim made it a date.

Well, uh, not a date exactly.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t planned on Scotty’s exuberant toasting, nor the choice of alcohol. So when he saw his first officer staring at him with wide, unfocused eyes, he had realized this shore leave was not to be.

“It is entirely your own fault, Captain.” Spock gave him an imperious glare. “You did not inform me that the coffees contained chocolate until after their consumption.”

“Spock, we drank three each. You had plenty of time to figure out they had chocolate in them.”

“Your construction of the necessary time is based upon flawed and false principles.”

Much to the chagrin of Dr. McCoy in particular, drunkenness did not mellow Spock’s penchant for scientific accuracy. In fact, it had seemed to exacerbate his need for correctness. Jim found it incredibly funny.

“In any case,” Spock concluded, with a seriousness that bordered on frustration. “I only drank two. Two point…two and… I most certainly drank two.”

“You drank three. I remember you distinctly ordering a third.”

“Incorrect. _You_ made the purchase of the libations, insisted you did, because you did not appreciate my wish to order tea, and supported the doctor’s demands I quote ‘get screaming drunk’.”

“Which, may I point out, you are.”

“Impossible.” Spock drew himself up straighter, his eyebrows narrowing in offense. “I have not screamed once this whole evening.”

Jim threw his hands into the air, abandoning the argument. There was no point in debating a drunk Vulcan – and seeing as the coffees had also contained brandy, he was more than a little tipsy himself.

“Well, so much for shore leave.”

“The hell on shore leave.”

Spock did a smaller, less coordinated imitation of his gesture before, tossing his arms in the air.

Jim laughed. “Come on, let’s go back to the ship.”

He set off down the street, closer to a zig-zag trajectory than straight. Spock was right on his heels, close enough that they continuously knocked into each other. He seemed to operate under the assumption Jim’s navigation was the exact and only method for a successful return trip.

It would have been endearing – if Jim wasn’t trying to remember where the hell the beam up point was.  

“Captain, will you be returning here once I am aboard? It is ship’s regulation that human crew take their full shore leave upon arrival at the intended destination, otherwise negative mental health effects can occur, occasionally resulting in—”

“Spock, I’m going to be just fine staying aboard ship. I’m going straight to bed once I’m there, which I suggest you do too.”

Spock shook his head, although part of his attention seemed consumed by the flashing neon lights of Tri-Delta’s entertainment district, as they stopped at a crosswalk to let the vehicle traffic pass.

“Vulcans do not require the hell so much sleep as humans.” The statement was not convincing, as he swayed on his feet.

“Mr. Spock, I wonder if you’d take my arm?”

Spock gave him a startled look, the chocolate disarming his usual impassiveness.

“Your arm?”

Not knowing what to expect from his drunk Vulcan, Jim figured having Spock on his arm would save dignity, should his legs decide to act illogically under the influence. Knowing Spock, however, he would never accept that kind of help. Jim, therefore, had a plan of action in mind.

“Yes. It’s a bit of walk to the beam up point. In a new environment, without a security team, who knows what might happen? I’d feel much safer if you took my arm.”

Spock considered his offer – the process quite visible in his expression – then nodded.

“If you wish, Jim.”

Jim held out his arm.

Very carefully, Spock accepted their contact. He took particular care in positioning Jim’s hand on his upper arm, touching it only so much as was absolutely necessary, as if it were made of lace.

Finally the Vulcan nodded, indicating his satisfaction. Spock really was quite sweet, Jim thought, in his own logical way.

They set off, hand-in-arm, as the traffic signal indicated the way was clear.

It was then, acknowledging the sensation of Spock at his side, he realized his terrible mistake.

Jim had not thought his request through to its obvious consequences – because now he was holding tight to the man he’d been smitten with for two years, and he was too tipsy to pretend like it wasn’t the biggest deal.

Anyone who had ever called him a seducer had never seen Jim Kirk actually in love. He was feeling rather too much like the Academy nerd, and not so much like the captain of the Enterprise.

Spock’s arm felt strong and muscular, and all Jim could think was _gosh, he’s so wonderful!_ Real seducers definitely did not say gosh.

 “I do not enjoy being drunk.”

The quiet observation made Jim giggle.

“Not a very logical condition, hm?”

Spock shook his head. “It is a heightened state of inefficiency. I have noted my reflexes have diminished by fourteen point seven five percent.”

“At least you have the comfort of calculating your reaction to it. For us humans, it’s all hypothetical until the next morning.”

“So Dr. McCoy attempted to explain. I do not see why this is a desired state for your species.”

Jim shifted his hand on Spock’s upper arm, leaning closer as a raucous Andorian couple barreled past.

“It’s not a universal desire, I can assure you. There are plenty of humans who can’t stand being drunk. The only trouble is that there’s an equal number of those who like it.”

“But what purpose does it serve?”

“I think it’s about taking away purpose. Drunkenness can be quite liberating. It can let people enact all that they’ve wanted to do, or say, but never had the courage to. Of course, sometimes that’s not exactly a good thing.”

“It seems to be a circumstantial, if highly illogical experience.”

“Exactly.” Jim patted his arm. “And now you’ve tackled the illogical first hand. What do you think?”

“I believe I prefer the logical.” Spock hummed slightly. “The coffee, however, was rather appetizing.”

“Really?” Jim smiled. “Then I have a conclusion for you.”

“Which is?”

“That even the illogical can have merit.”

The edge of Spock’s lips quirked upward.

“I have already reached such a conclusion.”

“How?”

Spock glanced down at him, lifted one eyebrow. “By my observations of you, of course.”

Jim burst out laughing, causing a passerby to look around in alarm. It was a testament to their joint intoxication that neither cared enough to stop Jim from doubling over in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You’re too much. Ooh!” Jim put a hand on Spock’s arm, marking the fact he had had a realization. “I remember the beam up point now.”

“You mean you did not bef—”

“Come on!”

The beam up point was in the local park, which meant the urban streets were dissolving rapidly into benches and trees with purple foliage as they passed. They travelled the rest of the way without speaking. Occasionally Jim threw a glance to his first officer, sometimes shifting his hand on his arm with a smile. Spock replied always with an obliging raised brow. Otherwise, they shared a comfortable silence, simply together and content. 

“The point is just up that path. We’ll have to readjust, I think, Mr. Spock.” He gestured to the pathway, taking out his communicator. “Not quite big enough for two.”

Jim let go of Spock’s arm, letting his hand slide down.

“Do you—?”

As he turned to ask– he had already forgotten what – something flashed through Spock’s expression, too quick for Jim to catch, but clear enough that he could see it was something important.

“Is that alright? Do you have another suggestion?”

“No. Ah, no, captain.”

Spock glanced quickly downward. Following the look, he saw his hand was curled lightly around Spock’s.

Heat burned across his cheeks. Looking up again, he met Spock’s wary gaze.

They both flinched away from each other at the same instant.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It is of no consequence, pardon me for allowing—”

“God, I’m such an idiot, I should have paid more atten—”

“As a Vulcan, of course, I am at fault for the indiscre—”

They stopped, having turned to look at each other, and spent a brief moment struggling silently to resolve who should speak first.

“—tion,” they said. Then both blinked as they tried to puzzle out what the other had said to line up so well.   

Jim started to giggle, putting a hand to his forehead.

“We are drunk, aren’t we?”

Spock released a breath, almost in laughter. 

“Quite objectively.”

It struck Jim suddenly that Spock was the most beautiful individual he had ever known.

This was probably the brandy talking, maybe even clouding his vision. But he had always known, and always thought that Spock was wonderful.

And besides, there was moonlight shining on Spock’s dark hair, and his brown eyes were infinitely fond, and his lips were curved upward, bashful, and caring, and lovely.

 _Gosh_. Jim felt like a teenager, silly and infatuated, and yet like an ancient poet, overwhelmed and awed by the truest, purest of emotions possible. 

He loved him.

Something almost like a smile fluttered across Spock’s lips.

_I love you!_

Jim stepped forward, instinct saying he should take Spock into his arms.

“Spock, I—”

His communicator chirped before he could follow through. He stopped with his hands on either side of Spock’s arms, a second away from pulling him into an embrace.

 _“You signaled, Captain?”_ came the voice of the transporter operator.

 “Oh. Yes, I did. That’s right. Two to beam up.”

“Jim?”

Spock frowned slightly, but it did not change the look in his eyes, the soft trust that dared Jim dream of miracles.

“You wished to speak?”

He smiled. “Wish is a very illogical word, Mr. Spock.”

Rematerializing on the transport pad, Jim found himself laughing at the expression of the technician operating the console, their eyes wide as their captain and first officer stepped over-cautiously off the platform.

“Don’t look so shocked, Daniels. Mr. Spock and I were conducting a very scientific experiment on the properties of alcohol, weren’t we?”

“The hell we were not, captain. My only action was in becoming inebriated.”

The yeoman stifled a laugh into their hand, and Jim winked at them as he directed the Vulcan out of the transporter room.

“Well, another successful adventure, Mr. Spock. I think I’d like a game of chess to celebrate.”

Spock stopped, leaving Jim to saunter a few more steps, before realizing his first officer was not by his side.

“That is not necessary, sir.”

Jim turned back, to see Spock was quite serious, as he always was.

“Oh.” Jim felt his hands go sheepishly behind his back. “Of course, we’re not at all in the right…I’ve been quite self-absorbed all evening, Mr. Spock, my apologies.”

“Captain. There is no need, if I understand the phrase correctly, to “humour me” any longer. I am aware that you wished to engage in leisure activities, but in your characteristic desire to ensure your companions contentment at all times, forwent your intended pursuit for what you assumed would please me.”

Jim blinked, partly because he had never heard himself so described (not unfairly either), and partly his tipsiness made Spock’s natural eloquence all the more attractive.

“I will remind you, captain, that Vulcans have no ego, and therefore you should not hesitate to pursue your desired objective. I will take my leave of you.”

Jim folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall.

“And what, if I may ask, do you believe my objective is this evening?”

That seemed to catch Spock slightly off guard. His head tilted to one side.

“Come on, Spock.” Smiling playfully, Jim stepped forward. “Did McCoy tell you I was trying to chase tail or something?”

“I do not see why the extended backbone of—”

“Pursue a sexual encounter.”

The amendment made Spock frown.

“The general idea was communicated. I rejected the notion.”

“And you were right to. My only aim is spending the evening with you.”

“Oh.” It was Spock’s turn to blink, and his dark eyelashes were particularly lovely in the motion. “Even despite my inebriation?”

“Especially despite your inebriation. It might be the only way I win at chess.”

“It might be.” Spock lifted an eyebrow. “If you are lucky.”

“Then it’s a good thing I believe in luck.”

And perhaps because he was inebriated too, Jim slipped a hand around Spock’s arm.

Spock withdrew. For a moment, Jim thought he had severely miscalculated. _Spock doesn’t appreciate unwarranted contact, what are you thinking?_

But Spock merely took Jim’s hand in his, and settled it more neatly onto his upper arm.

The Vulcan inclined his head – a gesture that said _is this permissible, sir?_ – and Jim had never felt so fond.

“Yes, captain. I believe it is.”

 


	4. In Jealousy

Jim was not the type to feel jealous – at least, he kept reminding himself that he wasn’t.

They’d picked up a small detail of botanists to help with the plethora of new specimens gathered at Omega Fidelis – despite Lieutenant Sulu’s fervent declarations that he could sort the whole 1123 sample collection himself.

He should have looked over the list of transfers a bit closer. He hadn’t realized _she_ would be with them.

Walking from the officers’ lounge, having his ear talked off by Bones about his last missed physical exam, he nearly gasped as he caught sight of Leila Kalomi and Spock standing by the turbo lift – evidently together.

“Ooh,” McCoy said under his breath. “Here we go again.”

“Ssh, Bones.”

Spock, to his credit, seemed impersonal as ever, considering her conversation with the appropriate attention. And only the conversation. Leila, on the other hand…

Jim tried to ignore her fluttering eyelashes, and the fingertips that kept darting to Spock’s elbow. He noticed too that Spock did not shift away from her touch.

Jim was at times envious that Spock could refrain from feeling. The mixture of jealousy, anger, and pointless yearning that resurfaced at Leila’s flirtations was frankly embarrassing. 

He hadn’t forgotten the effect of the spores on his crew, or his first officer. Or the way Spock looked at her under the influence. Jim had never seen him quite so happy, certainly never so blissfully in love, and never again.

How he wished…

Jim cleared his throat as he approached.

“Oh, Captain Kirk!” Her voice was sweet and feminine, and entirely annoying. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m pleased to be back aboard the Enterprise.”

He saw through the platitude. As Spock later admitted, Leila had been rejected in favour of his responsibility to the Enterprise. It gave Jim no small pleasure that Spock’s sense of duty would always outweigh any of her attractions. Her strained smile indicated she had not forgotten what, and, subsequently, _whom_ Spock had chosen.

Jim nodded in return. “We’re pleased to receive you, I’m sure.”

The turbo lift doors opened, and all four filed in.

“Miss Kalomi and I were discussing the properties of specimen 51.” Spock explained, choosing to stand between the botanist and his captain. “According to preliminary study, it may contain the necessary antidote to counteract Berthold Rays.”

“You must remember those, captain.” Leila laughed, giving Spock an unnecessarily affectionate glance. “They are the same ones that were on Omnicron—”

“Omnicron Ceti III, yes. I recall the incident.”

Leila seemed to ignore him, placing a hand on Spock’s arm. “It’s simply wonderful news. It means life can flourish there as it did before. Why, we could all visit there again. Mr. Spock, do you remember the clouds on Omnicron?”

“That’s quite the illogical question, isn’t it?”

The group gave Jim a simultaneous look – for it was Jim who had spoken on Spock’s behalf.

“Captain,” said Spock, frowning slightly. “The question was not illogical.”

He felt his cheeks go slightly warm.

“But surely irrelevant then?” Jim suggested. “You can’t find anything useful in talking about clouds, can you?”

Leila’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise maintained her guise of innocence. “Actually, Mr. Spock and I have spoken often on the subject.”

“Then what logical reason can you have for discussing it again?” Jim watched her gaze follow his hand as he reached to touch Spock’s arm, feeling a rush of satisfaction as she stiffened. “I’m sure Mr. Spock would much rather focus on more interesting topics. Wouldn’t you say so, Spock?”

Quietly, and with some measure of concern in his tone, Spock replied, “I do not consider cloud formation to be an uninteresting topic, sir.”

A flash of triumph lit Leila’s expression, and she curled her fingers around Spock’s other arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. The clouds were very relevant to our conversation. In fact, we were just discussing how wonderful a time we had on Omnicron.”

“Did Mr. Spock call it wonderful, or is it you who thinks that?”

“Both.” She flushed a bright pink. “We both used the term.”

“Really?”

“Jim,” said Bones under his breath, in warning.

“Yes, really!”

“Well that’s lovely.” Jim didn’t bother to disguise the decidedly un-lovely feelings he had toward her in his voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Spock and I don’t often talk about our time together. But I suppose that’s because we’re _always_ together – and it simply wouldn’t be logical to do so.”

There was a blaze of antagonism in her eyes, matching something of what was burning in his chest – a protective instinct, something deep and primal that hissed _hands off, he’s mine!_

“I don’t think logic has anything—”

“Oh, it has absolutely everyth—”

“Excuse me.”

The quiet interjection from Spock froze their argument instantly.

The Vulcan lifted a cheerless brow. “I would appreciate if you would both let go.”

Looking down, he realized they were each grasping one of Spock’s arms, in a way that was too childish for either of their dignities.

Both let go of Spock immediately.

“Sorry!” Jim said, feeling himself go pink.

“Oh!” Leila put an apologetic hand to her lips. “Do forgive me, Mr. Spock.” And she smiled very prettily. Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something obscene.

The turbo lift doors opened.

“Well, that’s me!” said Bones, and practically leapt out the doors, looking entirely relieved to escape the tension.

Spock merely inclined his head, and nothing more.  

The doors shut, leaving the three alone. It was utterly silent, except for the slight whir of the turbo lift ascending the decks, and the incessant chatter of Jim’s head.

Had he won just then? Had he lost? Did Spock not like her? Could he possibly find her attractive? Was he fooled by that stupid coy charade she was putting on? Oh, shit, had she said something smart before he arrived? Did Spock think she was a genius or, God forbid, _fascinating_?

It wouldn’t do to sweat it out. Jim had to make a definitive move to knock her off balance.

He leaned casually on the wall of the lift, then made a small sound, as if remembering something.

“I’ve been meaning to ask – would you be amenable to playing chess with me this evening?”

Leila produced a tiny, girlish laugh. “How funny. _I_ was going to ask you, Mr. Spock, if you’d like to discuss the specimen details any further. Perhaps over dinner?”

_Shit!_ That was a way better offer – a romantic offer.Jim attempted to keep his cool, and not shoot daggers at Leila Kalomi.

Spock blinked, and looked to Leila. “I must decline.”

“Some other time, perhaps?”

“No.”

Her smile faltered. “No? Why not.”

“I have discussed the specimens to my satisfaction. Furthermore, as I have no direct involvement in the study, there is no benefit to you in conversing with me on the subject. I would recommend you speak with Lieutenant Sulu on such matters. And, incidentally,” Here he tilted his head, seeming to stress the point. “I do not wish to have dinner with you.”

Leila made a small sound, perhaps of surprise or indignation. When the turbo lift doors opened, she swept out, without another word to either of them.

Jim did his best to keep his smirk to himself.

“Captain,” Spock said, once the turbo lift began to move. “May I speak candidly for a moment?”

Jim felt his heart rate quicken slightly. “Of course.”

Spock turned the lift handle, slowing the turbo lift to a stop.

A smile had worked its way onto Jim’s lips. “Anything particular you wished to say?”

“Sir.” Spock’s gaze was cold as ice, the displeasure palpable in a way that stopped Jim in his tracks. “You have acted entirely unprofessionally. The conflict you have just engaged in was trivial, and investing into such conflict does not become your office, or your character, and I should think you would be ashamed of it.”

He was right. Embarrassment flooded him instantly.

“I’m sorry…” Jim made to reach for him, but realized that was probably not a good idea. “I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to upset—”

“I do not want an apology, sir.” His tone made Jim take a step back. “You treated Miss Kalomi without the respect due to a guest of the Enterprise. I expect you to recognize and amend your misconduct according to Starfleet policy.” 

“You’re right.” Jim felt like he was back at the Academy, hauled before the council for cheating on the Kobayashi Maru – except he cared a lot more about Spock’s opinion. “I was out of line. I’ll apologize to her. Conflict over. You won’t hear about it again.”

Spock seemed to see his contrition, his sincerity. He turned away, and resumed the turbo lift progress. They were silent for a moment.

“Captain?”

Jim looked to him. Spock frowned slightly.

“I cannot determine the catalyst for either of your hostilities. What did she do to provoke you?”

Nervousness rose in the back of his throat. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Spock glanced to him skeptically. “You are evidently not fond of her.”

“Neither are you.”

One brow raised. “True.”

Jim blinked. “You’re not? I was kind of joking. Really?”

“Indeed.” It was spoken with the same disbelief as if Jim had just said _wait, you’re a Vulcan?_  “Despite all evidence to the contrary, she is insistent of our mutual compatibility. She has declared affection for me with increasing urgency, and emotionalism over the past three instances of our meeting. It has grown tedious. In fact, before you arrived she implored that we reinitiate our prior relations of the romantic kind – to little avail, I may add.”

Jim wet his lips, trying to cover up the fact that his heart nearly lurched out his chest at the thought of Leila propositioning Spock.

“I didn’t realize you two had been involved that way.”

“We were not.” His lip curled slightly. “Not consensually.”

“Oh.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what to say. “Spock, I’m sorry.”

“I sustain no injury from her attentions. They are simply misguided.”

“Well, I am glad you don’t find my attention half so irritating.”

Spock, from his sharp glance, seemed to catch the underlying question of that statement, and Jim avoided his gaze. He certainly hadn’t meant to suggest anything of their relationship – even if it was what he had been thinking of.  

“You have not explained why she affected you so easily.”

Jim hummed. “You can’t guess?”

“You are attempting to tease me.”

“No, I’m not – I’m trying to say I—”

_Love you_ , he finished internally. But he couldn’t say that. He had already behaved abominably in Spock's eyes, and to pin his behavior on his feelings would sink him for sure.

He found something else to say instead, equally true. “I don’t want her to hurt you, that’s all.”

“To hurt me?”

“Yeah.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. I didn’t like how she treated you when you were under the influence of the spores. How she took advantage of your altered state to pursue a relationship. You deserve someone who loves you without enforcing how you love in return. That’s what I mean.”

Beside him, Spock straightened. “Jim, I… I did not anticipate your opinion was informed by your regard for me.”

“Is that ok?”

“Certainly.”

The turbo lift came to a stop, the door swished open. Spock stepped out.

“Oh, wait, Spock!” Jim blurted. When Spock turned, he smiled bashfully, clasping his hands behind his back. “Um, you never said if you’d play chess tonight.”

Spock frowned. “As we have kept our chess engagements for three years without significant alteration, changing our plans now would be highly illogical.”

With that, and a severe lift of his brows, the turbo doors shut.

Clearly, Jim thought, jealousy was of absolutely no use for winning a Vulcan’s heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This Side of Paradise is one my faves. I always wished there had been some petty bickering between Leila and Jim tho - gotta love jealous Jim. Also, I'm aware that Leila might be a little OOC here, but I also question the morals of someone who relies on spores to start a relationship. And isn't it worth it for the drama? 
> 
> Thanks again, leave a comment/kudos if you liked it!


	5. In Reverie

How he worked up the confidence to ask him into his bedroom, Jim would never know.

They were dancing.

It was a waltz, the waltz Jim had such difficulty learning at the Starfleet diplomatic training session for their upcoming conference on Andoria. But now…

Spock’s palm was warm against his, resting between their chests.

They were so close. They had never stood this close to each other before. Not like this. Not with their arms around each other, and Spock gazing into his eyes, and the tips of their noses brushing. Spock’s other hand, the one draped around his shoulders, drifted down his back, his fingertips brushing ghostly kisses along Jim’s spine.

Jim felt himself shudder, the touch teasing his long-hidden desires to the surface. Spock stepped away.

“Captain.” The word was low, and somehow more sensual than he had ever heard it. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No.” He tugged him gently closer, looking up into his eyes. “Please, I…I’d like to try again.”

Spock smiled, in his usual, not-quite-a-smile way.

“Your dancing is perfectly adequate, captain.”

“Then I’d like to be adequately perfect this time.”

Spock hummed, stepping into Jim’s arms as though it were natural, as though they had always done this. “I do not think one can achieve the state of “adequately perfect” I know, however, you will try.”

“I always try, Mr. Spock.”

They swayed together, warm, moving on each other’s touch, without regard for the music. Jim felt like closing his eyes, letting their lazy, gentle rhythm lead him into dreams. These moments of peace were rare, not to be wasted.

“Captain.” The word reverberated through his chest, pressed tightly against Spock. “Forgive me if what I say is unwanted. I find myself very fond of you.”

“In the most professional way, I’m sure.”

“No.”

Jim looked up. Spock held his gaze.

“No, Jim.”

He could barely think to breathe. Jim pressed his forehead into Spock’s shoulder, wondering how he could possibly be so fortunate.

“Would it be undesirable to you, Mr. Spock, if I confessed the same? If I told you I lo—um, if I told you of my feelings?”

He cursed himself inwardly for being a coward.

Why he was afraid he was not sure. Now, of all times, when Spock’s cheek was resting atop his head, and their embrace was warm, and safe, and spoke of things unspoken, but known between them. Yet, he was so very, very afraid. 

He felt to say it aloud would shatter everything – that somehow Spock would pull away, or this warmth would suddenly turn ice cold. It was better to have the small joy of his trust, his careful, unyielding friendship than have nothing at all. Jim did not like to lose, no matter the odds. 

But neither did Spock.

“An illogical question.” His voice was inescapably tender. “You could never be undesirable.”

The ghost of Spock’s lips passed his temple, and Jim shivered into him, surrendered.

“Kiss me.” He was not quite sure how he said it – an order, an offer, a plead? It didn’t matter, because Spock complied.

For a moment, utter bliss. Spock’s lips were like ambrosia. Intoxicating. Heavenly. Jim practically melted under his touch. 

Then, Jim pulled away, struck with thoughts of reason, and logic, and how Spock must hate this emotionality, how he must be doing this only to appease his captain’s stupid human whims, not because he really…

But Spock was stroking his cheek, and had not let go of his waist. He was not going anywhere.

“Captain,” he said quietly, with some measure of amusement in his voice. “I do not believe you have demonstrated your affection sufficiently.”

A smile broke across Jim’s face. “Why, Mr. Spock, are you attempting to seduce me?”

He felt Spock’s grip tighten on his waist – Jim drew a sharp breath.

The rise of his eyebrow was so terribly suggestive. “Attempting?”

The fierce kiss that followed was, really, only logical.

Details got a bit blurry after that, but Jim had enough wits about him to sense, and taste, and breathe because _God_ this was _so_ — He felt himself fall back upon the bed, and needed no more information as they wound together, then apart, and touching, touching, hands and lips, and electricity, and…

And—?

Jim woke up.

His quarters were quiet, dark. It was the middle of the night. The ship hummed in its familiar soothing way as he sat up, brushing the covers of his bed aside.

Alone.

For a moment, he held himself in stasis, struggling to process what had happened – what _hadn’t_ happened.

That diplomatic meeting they had been preparing for had happened six months ago, he remembered. In reality, Bones had given him the dance lesson.

Jim laughed quietly, falling back onto his bed. He wasn’t sure whether he felt amused or bitter or irritated or flustered. Perhaps all of them. He kept replaying the feeling of Spock’s lips, his eyes, his hand running down his back… It really was ridiculous. Hopeless.

Yet it had felt so terribly real.

He was being stupid – illogical, and stupid. They would never have that, or anything besides their friendship. How could they?

Jim buried his face in his hands. If even in his own dreams, he lacked the courage to say the words I love you, when would he ever say it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hey the title of the fic is in this chapter  
> Me: ...nice


	6. In Vulnerability (+1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. This is the Tarsus Chapter. As such, there is some violence, blood, and death in the flashbacks. Nothing, I hope, that's too gruesome, but proceed with caution if that's something that affects/triggers you. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is a lot of angst, which is a bit of departure from all the cuteness that came before, so let me know how you like it! Don't worry, the scheduled cute will return in the last chapter. Thanks again for your kudos, comments, and for reading!

He should have noticed his hands trembling when he beamed up. He should have heard his breath shake, seen the questioning look in McCoy’s eyes and admitted weakness.

But he hadn’t. He never could do the right thing when it came to this.

Jim hated being called a hero.

*

 

The Inter-Federation conference on the Tellarite homeworld lasted a full eight hours. By the end, even Spock, who could usually withstand the longest and most mind-numbing conversation, looked particularly tired.

“Scotty’s got a bottle of Saurian brandy we’re planning to split, if either of you want to come to sickbay for a check-up,” Bones said, his voice twice the grumble as normal. “God knows, I’m gonna need to kill some brain cells after that one. That Admiral Komack could force a computer into manual shutdown.”

“He does not display any noticeable talent for oratory,” Spock supplied, a fraction of disdain present in his voice. “I shall have to decline your invitation, doctor. Alcohol has no discernable benefit to me.”

“That’s ‘cause you never drink enough of it.”

“Alright, gentlemen,” Jim murmured, massaging the spot on his temple where a migraine was developing. “I’m sure we’re not in the mood for a debate.”

“Oh, a debate?”

All three officers shared a collective look of weariness, before turning to meet an eagerly smiling Admiral Komack. The Admiral was the only one in the conference who had sustained any enthusiasm through his long, long, long speech.

“I am rather fond of debates. I won several in my time at the Academy.”

“Bless your heart,” said Bones, with a suitably unholy amount of get-me-out-of-here in his eyes.

“Interesting,” Spock said, quietly, in a deadpan so dead Jim was surprised Komack didn’t drop to the floor.

“Yes, indeed!” Komack was oblivious to the tone of the room – apparently a prominent characteristic. “I know your crew are quite knowledgeable – I’m sure a debate on any subject would prove most informative.”

“Some other time, I’m sure, Admiral. My men have been overworked these past few months.”

“Oh, of course. Please dismiss them. I had hoped to speak with you privately anyhow, Kirk.”

Shit. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck listening to Komack again – but with a glance to Bones, then Spock, and seeing neither one looked particularly self-sacrificing, he conceded his defeat to diplomacy.

Jim smiled thinly, nodded. “Go beam up, gentlemen. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Sure thing, Jim.”

“Good evening, Admiral.”

Bones was off in a flash, Spock not far behind. They escaped around the corner just in time before Admiral Komack began to speak.

“I must say, it’s shame your crew had to run off. I’ve always wanted to talk to a Vulcan – informally, I mean. Man to alien, you know?”

“Did you have something specific you wished to discuss, Admiral?”

He didn’t know why he bothered to ask – Komack barreled onward: “I looked over the list of your assignments in the past month in preparation for today – incredible! Can’t imagine how you tackled being sent back in time, switching bodies, deciphering ancient alien languages – and still managed to arrive early for the conference!”

Jim afforded him a small laugh, a bit embarrassed by how loudly Komack was declaring this success. The words were quite literally echoing off the walls.

“I have an excellent crew, sir.”

“But a crew needs a good captain, and by thunder, you’re one of the best. I just read your report on Tholian sector dialects, excellent work.”

“Actually, my communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura was the one who—”

“Of course, all this Starship stuff must be easy for you. You were pulling off heroics in your teens! Still, Kirk, I am very impressed.”

Jim frowned. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t quite understand what you are referring to. I attended the Academy in my teenage years, like any other officer. I’m not a hero.”

Komack smiled, as if he was being cute. “Ah, that’s what I like about you, Kirk. Team player! Advocate for the fleet!” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No need to be humble with me. We both know most thirteen year olds don’t stage coups.”

As Admiral Komack chuckled, Jim felt coldness wash over him. “Is that what you wished to speak about, Admiral?”

He could hear that the emotion had drained from his voice, and Komack’s eyes reflected his sudden clinical tone, his detachment.

The Admiral cleared his throat, removed his hand. “Yes, in fact.”

“I’d rather not.” Jim realized his shoulders had tensed, rolled them back once. “I like to look toward the future, not the past. I’m sure you understand.”

If Komack had understood anything at all, he wasn’t showing it. His face was back to its oblivious smile.

“That’s what makes you Starfleet’s best!”

Laughing politely, Jim was pleased when they set off down the hall toward the transporter room, not merely because the conversation was over.

_Tarsus. Kodos. The eyes of four thousand colonists._

Jim shook his head. 

“As a matter of fact,” Komack was saying, “I wondered if you might look into the wheat famine on Deneva 12. All technical considerations, resource allocation, that sort of thing. Wouldn’t require a shift from your ship’s schedule – your science division could handle it. Of course, if you’re too busy—”

“The Enterprise is always busy.” Jim inclined his head, stepping so the automatic doors to the transporter room swished open. “I’m afraid I haven’t much of an interest in agriculture.”

“Of course. I’ll find another ship to handle it, not a problem.” Komack laughed, and after a few more long sentences, excused himself.

The Admiral would forget. He would go off and chat to his peers about meeting James T. Kirk, and remember only the shared smiles, and the cordiality.

Jim was not sure what he wished to forget, or what it would mean if he did. 

*

 

He beamed aboard. Although his hands were shaking, he thought nothing of it. He was tired. He needed to go to sleep.

There would be plenty of little reminders for the rest of his life of what had happened on Tarsus IV. One comment didn’t matter.

He pushed it down. He smiled at McCoy when he passed him in the hall. He went to his quarters.

He did not remember much else of his evening after that.

*

 

Jim was always an adult.

Kevin Riley clung to his arm, sallow-cheeked and thin, just a child. The seven others of the later fated nine were all exactly as they had been – but not Jim.

Jim was always old enough in the dream to know better, and to do better.

Kodos spoke the same words, and the switch was thrown, and thousands of people, the ones who hurled themselves against the glass window of the anti-matter chamber, the faces of his cousins, his aunt, his uncle, and those who had no name but mattered just as much…

In the dream, he acted. He kicked out of the arms of the guard, threw himself at Kodos, the switch. It never mattered what he did here, because he was captain of the Enterprise in the dream, and the boy on Tarsus IV had been nothing.

The boy on Tarsus IV had stood still while they all ripped into atoms.

Komack had been wrong. They were all wrong. He had never been a hero.

*

 

Pain snapped him awake, though Jim could hardly discern where in his body it came from.

It was dark, but he could tell he was on a Starship – he knew the hum, he knew the sensation of the ship moving yet staying still. That didn’t make sense. Didn’t make any sense – because this had to be the prison block. Instinctively, he knew it was the prison block in the basement of the capital.

The wall beside him had tiles; he felt very cold. His hands curled tight into fists.

They were coming to find him.

He had to leave. The guards would come around, they patrolled in ten minute shifts, and if you didn’t take the right opportunity between their rotation, they would catch you, beat you—he remembered when Thomas tried to escape, when they had—

A hand closed over his arm. Jim flinched, recoiled to wind up a punch, but saw the pair of dark brown eyes of the man who touched him before he could close his fist.

“Spock…?”

The Vulcan’s eyes were quite intense, seeming to search his own for something tangible as Jim was pulled onto his feet.

_What will they do to Spock?_

The urgency of their situation kicked in – Jim seized him by the arms.

“You have to go. _Now._ ”

“I advise you to—”

“Don’t you understand?” Jim shook him. “Don’t you understand? They’re coming, you have to run, or—”

“Captain. No one is coming. There is no immediate danger.”

Did he not remember the famine? Had he forgotten when they dragged their families out of their houses, chained them in that fucking anti-matter chamber? Fuck, Spock should know, Spock should remember that they wouldn’t hesitate to murder him, not when Kodos’ men had shot the little boy Jim had helped with math, or tortured Kevin, or tied Jim to the chamber’s door with barbed wire, or…

Jim winced violently.

Spock’s hands took his shoulders, firmly, but not forceful. Jim tried to push him off, but he held solid.

“Let go of me. Spock! Fuck, let go of me!”

“I respectfully decline to, until you can explain the rationale behind your urgency.”

“The ration—? Spock, it’s _Kodos_ , his guards, they’re gonna… please, we need to go _now_.”

“Jim _._ ” The word was calm, almost hilariously so, given their circumstances. “There are no guards. Governor Kodos is no longer a threat. You are safe.”

His breath shook, fighting through the panic, but he laughed because it was Spock’s safety he was worried about, not his own. Jim had survived long enough, the luck of his parentage, the arbitrary assignment of his genetic structure had made him safe – but Spock, split between two worlds, Spock would be hated for all that made him wonderful. And they would hurt him – kill, perhaps, if they felt like it. Jim could not comprehend what it would mean to lose Spock now, to see him tormented as Jim had seen so many others.

He could not bear the thought.

“Please,  _go_ —”

Slender fingers moved up his cheek, finding the psi-points of his temple, his brow. At the back of his thoughts, a curl of _permission, respectfulness, concern_ unwound from Spock’s mind, and Jim nodded, relented. Perhaps he would understand.

The world disappeared into Tarsus IV.

Agony. It was as if all his memories saw a passage out, a means of escaping forever, and were hurling themselves like the four thousand, hurling themselves at an unmoving barrier.

He was thirteen. He did nothing as the switch was thrown. Hate and anger and guilt and tears boiled in his chest.

Then he was holding the little boy, the body of the little boy, and he screamed at the sky, as if it would give him justice.

Then… _No, God no, not this_. They fled the prison block, but someone had cried out, Kodos’ men came. The guard brandished his knife at Thomas Leighton, pinned against the outer wall of the detention center. Wrestling it from his hand, the struggle was a blur, Jim remembered the blade cut his hand as…

Jim could distinctly feel the sensation of turning the knife to the guard’s throat, and cutting a deep, thick line through it.

_Stop!_ _Please, stop!_   

He remembered the blood. How much there was, thick and unnatural on his hands. The other children looked at him as though he were an adult, and he was an adult, now, he had just become one. There were tears running down his cheeks. Action felt somehow worse, somehow more terrible than inaction – he hated himself for both.

Then. It was over. They overran the capital, they received medals, he was accepted into the Academy early. He still felt the blood on his hands. They called him a hero, but he was not, and could never be…

“Enough!” he bellowed, as if the memories heard or cared. “Stop it! I want to leave, do you hear me? I don’t want to remember!” 

He felt someone take his hand.

“You do not have to, Jim.”

Jim opened his eyes.

Slowly, the smoke of Tarsus’ sky receded around them. The barren dirt faded into tile floor, his skin felt warm – in Tarsus it had always been cold, or else scorching under the unbearable heat of its triple sun.

It had only been a few seconds, a quiet, steady voice told him. It had all been in his mind. 

Once, on the journey back to Earth, something similar had happened. A dream – a nighmare, he couldn’t remember what about. The child trauma therapists aboard found him barricaded beneath his bed, believing he was evading guards who no longer patrolled, on a planet he no longer inhabited.

It had only happened once. Then, he had locked himself in his room the rest of the voyage, humiliated that his own mind had conjured the ghosts of Tarsus. He swore he’d never let himself be violated by something he had overcome, never let the past defeat him.

Swearing had done no good. This time he felt ashamed too, but it was deeper, more painful.

He squeezed the hand in his. “It feels like I have to.”

The meld finally released, and Jim’s head swam for a moment, readjusting to the reality before his eyes.

They sat on the shower floor, the shower in their shared bathroom. He remembered dimly the first shower on the supply ship – how he had rubbed his skin raw, desperate to clean off all traces of the boy on Tarsus. He had come here, obviously, to repeat the memory.

God, he was stupid.

Spock knelt beside him, quite close. Meeting his eyes briefly, he seemed appropriately concerned for both a first officer, and a Vulcan. And Jim could tell Spock had seen everything. The questions waited behind his eyes.

_Damn it._

Jim never knew how to explain Tarsus, not to his family, not the therapists, not McCoy, not Kevin Riley, not even to himself. How could he rationalize the most painful moments of his life? How could he keep objective, and present a logical case for all the horrors he had seen, and committed?

“It would not be appropriate to insist on an explanation in your current state, Jim. Nor do I particularly need one.”

Jim started slightly. “How did you—?”

Spock gestured with a tilt of his head to look down. His hand was trapped between Jim’s two.

_Touch telepathy._

“ _Shit_ , I didn’t—sorry!”

He released Spock’s hand, feeling colour rise in his cheeks, but Spock did not move away like Jim expected. Something glimmered in his eyes, something entirely too sympathetic for Jim’s unsteady ego. 

“Are you alright, Jim?”

“So…so, what happens? You…” Jim made a vague gesture to his head, which was probably an insulting diminishment of the mental discipline required to meld. “You saw it all, right?”

“Yes.” Spock’s hand approached his, but hesitated. “I wish to offer—”

“I don’t want your pity.” Jim had always hated being the victim, even if he was one.

“Not pity.” Spock withdrew, frowning slightly. “Solace. I intended to offer you solace.”

Jim shifted away.  “Well, I don’t want that either.”

He had never told anyone about Tarsus, not fully, and no one that he’d ever had to stay with for long. It was shameful, it was the worst part of himself. And Spock had seen it, in all its terrible, painful detail.

Jim knew, somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, that Spock was just performing duty. It was logical, wasn’t it? A commanding officer couldn’t be in emotional distress for too long – this was another shining example of Spock’s excellence in upholding regulation.

But duty didn’t say you had to like your commanding officer.

Spock was a pacifist, capable of defending himself and others against evil. Spock was good, and ethical, and perfect. Spock was against everything Jim had been on Tarsus. It was only logical to despise him, then.

“Go away, Spock,” Jim said, quietly, gritting his teeth against the ache in his chest, which wanted to prove himself worthy of Spock’s affection. “I’m fine now, so you can go. That’s an order.”

“I refuse to leave you in distress.”

“Fuck you.” It slipped. He recognized at once it was not the right thing to say. But his mind was reeling. He didn’t correct himself. 

Spock snapped into his straightest posture, which, even sitting down, was quite a formidable gesture.

“I do not merit insult, sir.” That was a warning, not merely a fact. “I suggest you retract your statement.”

“I don’t think I will, Mr. Spock.” He said it bitterly, his hands curling into fists. “You’re as bad as I am.”

“Please provide your evidence for such a statement.”

“You should have stopped the meld when you saw.”

“You wished to share your memories.”

“No, I didn’t.” Jim noted Spock’s determination and held fast to his anger. It felt better to have a target, to have something to fight other than himself. “Not all of them. You should have stopped me, you should have understood—”

“I was endeavoring to understand.” Spock pressed his lips together briefly, perhaps restraining any outward frustration. “I assure you, it was never my intention to invade your privacy.”

“But you did.”

“Then I am sorry.”

Jim might have dismissed the apology, if it were anyone else, because no one had ever given a damn about his privacy where Tarsus was concerned. But, meeting Spock’s gaze, there was no mistaking the sincerity in his expression.

He couldn’t stay angry. Not at Spock.

“Yeah.” He let a sigh escape him. “Me too. I’m not all together right now. Sorry.”

“Captain, if I may offer some assis—”

“I’m fine.” Jim moved out of reach. “And it doesn’t matter. You saw.”

“You are displeased with my conduct.” It was not quite a question, yet not a statement either.

“No. I’m not displeased.” Jim looked him in the eye, to make sure Spock knew it was the truth. “But I can imagine what you must think of me. A very fascinating case study in psychology, I’m sure.”

His voice sounded strangely calmn, but his mind was churning. It felt like something had been torn from him, he was bleeding out.

Perhaps Spock noticed. He shifted into Jim’s periphery. 

“It was not my intention to cause you discomfort. I believed you desired my understanding, and to discharge your memories of the ordeal. You communicated as much through the contact. I meant only to provide a means of emotional release.”

“I’m sure my emotions didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable.”

Spock produced a small sound of confusion. “It is troubling that you believe I would find your distress enjoyable at all.”

Jim shut his eyes. “Troubling. Is there nothing else you feel about the situation, Mr. Spock?”

There was a pause, which was enough to satisfy the question. Spock, however, answered quietly, carefully.  

“I shared in your anguish through the meld. I have witnessed what you have witnessed, felt all you have felt. The suffering you have faced is cruel, and undeserved. It is my hope that you do not feel this pain often. I hope you do not feel it now.”

Jim’s breath caught at the gentleness of Spock’s voice. He tried to remind himself that this was for duty, for his own benefit, not because Spock really—

“You believe I think less of you for your actions on Tarsus.”

His eyes snapped open, he recoiled. “Of course you think less of me! You fucking _saw_. I killed—Spock, I killed—”

He could not say it.

Jim pulled away, pushed himself up against the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as if wounded.

“I know your actions.” A hand came to rest on his elbow. “I do not blame you for taking them.”

“Bullshit.” He tugged away. “’S’illogical.”

“In general circumstances, murder is indeed illogical. Surak taught killing to be unethical, however, he acknowledges the possibility of occasions on which it may prove necessary.”

He turned back. Spock’s expression was one of determined sincerity, his eyes never wavered once from Jim’s.

“You neglect to contextualize your actions, which were in defense of another. It is evident that your grief has affected your emotional well being greatly. You believe your individual choices of survival were equal to sanctioning Kodos’ genocide, and worthy of retribution. This is not reasonable, nor true.”

When Spock’s hand lifted, hesitating again by his arm, Jim leaned into the touch. A blossom of _comfort, assurance_ spread from Spock’s wide, cool palm, running quickly along his veins.

“I remind you that you were not captain then, nor governor, and were never personally accountable for the lives of any in the colony. You were a child. It is vital you understand that fact. You could not have shouldered the burden of such horror without cost.”

Jim felt a shudder run through him, though he wasn’t sure why. The hand on his arm tightened by a fraction. 

“But I still killed.”

“Your violence was in response to that shown toward you and those more vulnerable, and was entirely defensive. That you killed is regrettable, but ultimately a reasonable course. It is not illogical.”

Jim appreciated the simple analysis more than a hundred words of consolation. Yet, it touched him on a level far removed from the intellectual; it struck him in the pit of his stomach.

“I…I’m glad you see it that way.” How Spock could vouch for him, why he would even want to, baffled Jim, yet he was so grateful. “You still like me?”

A smile shone in Spock’s eyes.

“There is nothing that could alter my feelings for you.”

Jim could say nothing to that. His mind was too foggy, his words too poor to express the surge of relief, joy, and exhaustion within.

Instead, he shook his head, let the breath he had been withholding go in a rush of grateful, foolish air.

“It hurts,” he said, and felt stupid because he didn’t even know what he meant.

Spock moved his hand to his back, and began a small circular pattern of comfort. “I grieve with thee.” 

Jim felt something rise within his chest – tight, clawing its way upward. Its name eluded him, but all his instincts said to resist it. Shaking his head, he focused on taking breaths in and out. “Time’s it?”

“0300 hours. I am uncertain as to when you returned to the ship, or if you have slept.”

His breaths were becoming ragged; he wasn’t sure why he trembled.

“Fuck.” Jim ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what was happening. “Fucking stupid. Kodos is dead. I’m being so... shit, I’m such a—”

“You are not, Jim.” Spock was still smoothing circles into his back, consistent, calm. “To feel has no bearing on your capability, or intelligence. I assure you that should you wish to express an emotion, you are safe to do so here.”

“No. That won’t be necessary. I’m just —” His voice suddenly failed him. Jim drew a quick breath, turned to Spock.

The dark brows, which Jim was so accustomed to seeing lift individually, rose at the same time in surprise.

“Jim,” Spock said, softly. “You are weeping.”

And he felt the tears on his face. There was nothing Jim could do to stop them. Now he knew what the feeling in his chest had been.

“ _Spock_.”

It was a whimper, and once it was free, it was the signal for the rest of his pride to abandon him. Jim felt himself buckle under his emotion, and the tears were falling faster and thicker than he could bear. He found himself shaking uncontrollably, drawing shuddering gasps.

He turned away, knowing he must look ridiculous, but he found himself pulled back into an embrace.

“ _Ashayam_.” Spock’s baritone was impossibly tender. “Have comfort. You are safe with me. I am here only to aid thee.”

The offer was infinitely gentle. Jim did not know what it meant, _ashayam_ , but clung to it and Spock nonetheless.

Spock’s arms slid around him, and Jim clutched him tighter. “I—I can’t…”

“There need be no words.”

A sob choked out of him. “I…I’ve wanted…so many times…when we lost crew…when Kodos—”

“I understand.”

“Sp-Spock.” Jim squeezed his arms tighter around him. “I’ve been…so foolish…I’m afraid…”

“There is no shame in fear.” Spock’s fingertips traced the edge of his jaw. “It is human.”

The emotions inside him were running so fast it was hard to breathe. Instinct said to lean into his touch, to kiss his fingertips, and Jim couldn’t bear it another moment.

He pulled away.

“I’m being stupid.”

“Because of what you feel, Jim?”

“Yes.” He swiped at his eyes. “An unfortunate amount. Don’t you think so?”

“I believe you are less so than the majority of your species, even while you display emotion _._ ”

Jim laughed, in spite of himself. “Isn’t joking supposed to be illogical?”

“Not all occasions require perfect logic.”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was warm, if a little sad, and so too were his eyes as Jim looked up into them. “I am sorry if I have disparaged emotion too often. I would not have you think your feelings are not important to me.”

And that was so kind that Jim’s tears began to come from a different source, one of overwhelming affection.

Jim must have reached for him, or perhaps Spock simply recognized the need in his expression. They crushed together in an embrace either way.

The words slipped out before he could comprehend what he sacrificed.  

“Spock, I love you.”

It was little more than a whisper, buried into space between Jim’s lips and Spock’s collarbone. Jim didn’t even realize he had spoken it aloud, until he heard the quiet voice in return.

“ _T’hy’la t’nash-veh_.”

And Jim didn’t know what that meant, and didn’t ask. The sudden fear of what he had said, what he had given up, burned down the back of his neck. Jim’s arms were already tight around him, but he contracted them further, denying separation of any form.

“Don’t leave,” he said, cursing himself inwardly that it sounded so much like a whimper. “Please don’t leave me, Spock.”

Spock simply brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “I am here.”

“Stay with me.”

“I will.” His fingers laced into Jim’s hair. “Of course, I will.”

They remained this way for a long time, longer than Jim could keep count by any human measurement. He dared not shift away, or look up. He was afraid to think too much of what Spock had heard, knowing Spock might very well hear his thoughts.

Stillness and silence was their dialogue, but Jim could sense Spock’s calmness, his comfort. The shake of Jim’s breath was the only interruption. 

After a time, Jim allowed himself to relax into his arms. He basked in the occasional strokes of Spock’s fingers along the curve of his head, against his back.  He could not foresee ever lying within Spock’s embrace again, and so drank in every affection, however small.

“I could transport you to your room, if you would be more comfortable.” Spock’s voice was quiet enough that it did not startle him after the long silence.

Jim shook his head, clutched closer. “Don’t leave.”

“I shall not.”

Yet he would.

It would be different, he knew, come morning. All the barriers of captain and first officer, and Starfleet regulation would resume. Spock would step away, pretend this mutual display of emotion had not occurred. This kindness was merely an anomaly. It would not last.

He mourned a love that had never, and would never be.

And yet he loved, and loved, and loved. 


	7. To Speak

The room was filled with soft light when he opened his eyes

Jim, half-awake, found himself lodged in blankets, piled so thick that he could barely find the effort to lift his head. It was a very cozy arrangement. And with what little sleep he’d had last night, it was nice to—

_Last night!_ The thought jolted him to full consciousness. The nightmare, the tears. Lying in Spock’s arms.  _I love you._

_What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Jim Kirk._

It was obvious, he thought, burying his face back into the sheets, Spock had returned him to his room. He could only imagine the whimpering and sniveling his first officer had negotiated to get him here. 

Oh no. It was morning – which meant duty, which meant seeing Spock on the Bridge. The pain of what that encounter would look like made him groan.  _Captain, I must log your emotional compromise for Starfleet records. Would the correct denomination of your emotional release be weeping, sobbing, or wailing?_

Part of Jim wondered if he could transfer himself, preferably into the deepest darkest hole in space. God, what could he do? Make an executive order to never talk about it again? Maybe if he avoided everyone and everything, Spock would drop it. Yeah, Jim liked that option. It meant he could save face and stay in bed at the same time. 

After a moment longer of muttering self-deprecations into the blankets, Jim rolled over and hit the comm. button on the bedside table.

“Sickbay.”

“ _McCoy here_ ,” was the tired reply.

“Geez, you don’t sound too good, Bonesy.”

“ _Speak for yourself_.” There was a low laugh from the other side of the transmission. “ _Yeah, me and Scotty did a number on the scotch supply last night. Not the finest moment for a Starfleet officer this morning_.”

Jim hummed a laugh, turning his cheek back onto the pillow.

“ _How are you doing, Jimbo?_ ”

“Not good. I was wondering if you could cancel my alpha shift this morning.”

There was a slight sound, perhaps of confusion, from the other end.

“ _I already did_.”

Jim sat up. “You already—why?”

“ _Spock comm’d this morning. He said you had an “episode of emotional collapse” for which you needed the first half of today off_.”

A small groan escaped Jim. Of course he had.

“ _Are you ok? Do you need me to head up there?_ ”

“No.” He passed a hand over his face. “Just a Tarsus thing. It was embarrassing as hell, but nothing beyond that. I’d rather forget it ever happened.”

From the other end of the transmission, a small hum of understanding. “ _I’m here if you ever want to talk about it, Jimbo_.”

Jim smiled. “Thanks Bones.”

“ _Anyway, I signed off on the schedule change. You’re good ‘til Beta at 1600 hours._ ”

“I’ll be alright before then.” Jim pushed away the covers, hoping to convince himself as he convinced Bones. “Thank Spock for the recommendation when you see him.”

Slowly, Jim swung his legs off the bed. He had better get dressed before he lost all his nerve, and spent the day in bed.

“ _That’s the funny thing_ ,” said Bones. “ _Spock begged off this morning too. Said he had ‘personal matters to contend with’, whatever the hell personal matters mean to a Vulcan_.”

“Huh.” Jim stifled a yawn. “That is funny.”

“ _Did you two have a fight or something last night?_ ”

Jim blinked, turning to look at the comm. unit.

“No. Why?”

“ _I dunno, Jim. Just seems a little weird that you both are off sick at the same time, especially since Spock called in about yours_.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jim got to his feet, glad this call wasn’t on visual. He was almost certain he had gone pink. “You can blame both sick days on me, Bonesy.”

Since waking, Jim had only really thought of one thing, a moment tucked into Spock’s embrace, a whisper that had more than likely destroyed their relationship. Because, come on. If he were an emotionally restrained Vulcan whose captain had tearfully confessed their love last night, Jim would have taken a sick day too.

“ _Wait a second. You didn’t sleep with him, did you?_ ”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“ _Hey, I don’t know!_ ”

“Nothing happened, Bones.” Jim stripped off his shirt, started toward the closet unit. “I got all emotional, like he said, and I made an ass of myself. He probably thinks I’m some illogical fool, and that’s the end of that.”

“ _Y’never know, Jim. He seemed all concerned this morning when he comm’d. Vulcan-style concern that is._ ”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _I’m serious. Don’t be so damn down on yourself._ ”

“I’m not down on myself. It’s—”

Whatever he had been about to say died on Jim’s lips. He was looking, he realized, at a closet full of blue shirts. Science track shirts. First officer shirts.

Oh,  _shit_.

Jim turned back, quickly, examining the room, noticing the different positioning of the bed, the furniture, the bathroom door. How had he not noticed the Vulcan lyre on the wall?

“ _Jim? Are you alright?_ ”

Slowly, Jim shook his head.

“Maybe I did sleep with Spock last night.”

“ _WHAT? Jim, what the fuck did you just—?_ ”

“I’ll comm. you later, Bones, I gotta go.”

He hurried to punch the comm. button off before Bones could ask any more questions.

This was Spock’s room. He was in Spock’s room. Oh. Jim felt his cheeks burn. He had woken up in Spock’s _bed_.

He was still trying to process that information when he heard the door swish open behind him. 

“Good morning, captain.”

Jim whipped around.

Spock stood in the doorway. A standard black undershirt was in place of his standard blue uniform, perhaps in effort to physically prove he was off duty. It was form-fitting. It was a nice colour on him. It exposed Spock’s lean, strong arms.

Shit. He looked _hot_.

“Hi.”

Spock’s head tilted to the right. “You are not wearing a shirt.”

Jim found it difficult to breathe, because _fuck,_ meeting the man he had unsuccessfully confessed love to last night with half his clothes on was definitely not scoring him any points.

As with all unnecessarily awkward situations, a sheepish smile spread across his face. “I’m a little lost this morning. I’ll put it back on.”

He turned to retrieve it from the bed.

“I would not object, captain, if you would prefer it off.”

“Very agreeable of you, Mr. Spock. I noticed…”

Jim was halfway into his shirt when what Spock had said registered fully. Wait… he _didn’t object_? What was that supposed to mean?

“You—?”

“Noticed what, sir?”

“Huh?”

Spock bowed his head. “My apologies. You said you noticed, but did not specify as to what. I assumed you meant to speak further. Perhaps I misunderstood.”

“Oh.” Jim shrugged bashfully. “No, you’re right.”

“Then you noticed…?”

Good question. What had he noticed?

_How handsome he looks,_ a very unhelpful voice supplied in his head. _And how he’s staring at you right now. And how warm it was in his bed last night._

Jim swallowed hard. “Nothing. Nothing in particular.”

“Oh.” Spock pressed his lips together, and seemed to add against his better judgment, “Your shirt is still not fully on.”

Never in his life had Jim’s cheeks felt so hot. Luckily, he had the luxury of plunging his face into his shirt, rather than make eye contact with what he was sure was a very exasperated Vulcan.

“Are you aware that your morning duties have been rescheduled?” Spock asked, once Jim started to pull his arms through his sleeves. “I notified Doctor McCoy that you were in need of recuperation.”

“Yeah. I comm’d him too, actually. Thanks.” Jim found one of his hands had migrated to his chest, hiding it from view like a bashful teenager. He pulled it, and the rest of his shirt, down sharply. “I heard you're taking the morning off. I thought Vulcans didn’t have sick days?”

“They generally do not. I considered, however, that to do so would provide us an appropriate interval to discuss the events of yesterday evening.”

That sent a jolt of panic through him. He chuckled, to compensate. “I see.”

A slight pause occurred. Spock’s dark eyes met his cautiously, seeming to anticipate something from him.

“It’s rather early to be up, isn’t it?” he offered, hopefully nonchalantly.

Spock’s brows lifted slightly. “It is 0800 hours.”

“Yes, but this is a sick day. Usually on sick days, one spends the morning in bed.”

“As you were occupying it, I do not think that would have been prudent.”

“But you slept with— uh, _beside_ me last night, didn’t you?” Spock said nothing. Jim frowned. “Didn’t you? Spock, don’t tell me I kicked you out of your own bed. Or that you slept on the floor.”

“No, captain. You are correct. We shared the accommodations.”

Spock hesitated, and Jim spent the brief silence attempting to maintain a neutral expression, and definitely not imagining what _sharing the accommodations_ might have felt like.

Definitely not.  

“You were quite adamant I should remain with you. I reasoned that my quarters would be less of a breach of privacy. I apologize if they were not to your preference.”

Jim simply nodded, unsure how to string a sentence together that didn’t sound unprofessionally pleased to have slept in the same bed as his first officer.

There was a distant buzz from Jim’s room.

“Ah.”

Without further explanation, Spock turned and exited through the bathroom door. He entered a short moment later, with a square mug of—

“Coffee!” Its appearance erased all of Jim’s anxiety in a rush of relief – an incredible thing, what a little caffeine could mean to a recently awake Jim Kirk.

Spock lifted a brow as Jim hurried for it. “One sugar, one milk, I believe, is your standard order.”

“Spock, you didn’t have to—” Jim interrupted himself, taking a long sip. It was, indeed, how he prepared his coffee normally, a fact he appreciated immensely. “Mmm. Oh, lovely. You’re a miracle worker.”

“No, sir. I simply know how to operate a replicator.”

Jim laughed into the cup. “Well, thank you for operating it expertly.”

“You are welcome.”

“Mm.” Jim swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “Not just for this. For everything last night too. The bed,” He took a hasty sip after that. “For not mentioning what a terrible time we had in the bathroom, everything. Thank you.”

Spock’s gaze narrowed. “I believe you are exaggerating the matter. I did not consider your emotional outbursts to be unpleasant.”

“I did.” Jim hesitated, turning his gaze and his lips to the mug to disguise his shame. “You didn’t have to do any of that, you know. It’s not part of your duty to be my shoulder to cry on – literally or figuratively.”

“It was not an undue burden.”

“Still.” Jim made to take another sip, but found the mug empty. He smiled to himself. “You didn’t have to.”

Spock gestured for the cup, and giving it over, Jim took the opportunity to turn away. The truth would come out, he knew, and he was afraid of what the consequences would be. At best: none. At worst: everything. He would lose Spock, perhaps completely. But he couldn’t run away from his own feelings. He had never wanted to. So it would be now. Finally their unspoken tenuous relationship would find definition.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t be nervous about it.

“Captain.” Jim knew that tone, the carefulness of it. This was the “broaching a sensitive subject” voice, and it spiked his nerves to their peak. “If it is not unwelcome, I should like to address what we discussed last evening.”

Jim frowned. “I wouldn’t say we discussed much at all. Unless you mean Tarsus, in which case, no thanks.” He almost laughed at the idea. “I don’t think I’ve recovered enough of my constitution for that discussion.”

“You are still in distress?” The worry was obvious in his voice, surprisingly so for his Vulcan friend. Jim looked up, and saw it reflected in Spock’s focused gaze.

“No.” He restrained his urge to reach for him, to reestablish that touch he had so relished last night. “I’m fine, Spock. Don’t worry about me.”

That was met with doubt, in his look, and his silence.

Jim sighed, relented. “Well, no. It still hurts, probably always will, a little. But not in the same way, or as much. I’m better than I was. I promise.”   

Spock perhaps recognized that Jim meant it, or perhaps not. He nodded, either way.  

“I did not intend to speak about Tarsus IV, in any case. The subject I wished to broach was of a more personal nature.”

Spock moved past him, sitting on the edge of the bed in his ever-so-alien, endearing way.

“I…” Spock stopped himself. A slight frown crossed his expression, as if he was considering something deeply. “I am uncertain how best to begin.”

A significant point to admit, perhaps one that another might have chalked up to his Vulcan nature, his inexperience with emotion. But Jim knew Spock, and saw the way his fingers curled slightly into the sheets. They were both a little nervous, then.

Jim moved to sit next to him. “I won’t mind, whatever it is. You can ask.”

Dark eyes turned onto his own. “We are friends. Correct?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Spock withdrew his lips into his mouth, wetting them.

“I ask because I understand you to be more proficient in determining social relationships than myself. I have not learned, as you have, what constitutes the nature of friendship, and what does not.”

Jim was unsure what he meant, but knew the strict formality of his speech was another, almost invisible indicator of nerves. Carefully, he slid closer, and dared to touch Spock’s wrist.

“You can ask,” he repeated, gently. 

“You made…” Spock’s gaze lingered on his touch, but he did not move to reject it. “…certain statements of your feelings toward me.”

He had. They were touching, however, and Jim had not forgotten the lesson from last night. He kept his mind firmly separated from his heart.

“Do you want an apology?”

“I…I want…” Spock shook his head. “You expressed that you loved me.”

There was a deadly, terrible silence.

If this had been a test from an unknown alien power, Jim would have laughed. He would have dismissed the claim in a second if anyone else had put it to him. It was easy to lie if the stakes were professional, separate from the vulnerable center of his heart. But this was Spock. _Spock_. Trusted, and honest, and kind. And his love for Spock mattered too much to be treated like a political secret, or a bluff in a chess match.

This was the end. He saw the gentleness of his friend turn to stone in his mind, the awkward, painful distance this would create, the loss he would suffer. It was his fault. He was so sorry for it.

Jim allowed himself to gaze at Spock, to drink in every detail of the man he loved, and loved, and loved. “Yes. I did.”

“It is known that love has a multiplicity of expressions. Alien species across the Federation formulate these possibilities according to their unique socio-cultural perspectives.”

As he spoke, Jim realized Spock was quietly giving permission to reverse his statement, should he want to. It was so Vulcan of him to search for the logical solution. So human to avoid a hard subject. So very Spock to care for Jim’s pride.

“In human culture, as I understand it, over a dozen separate functions of the word exist, leaving numerous interpretations of—”

“I love you.”

It stopped Spock short, and made Jim’s heart pound as if he were risking his life – maybe he was. Still, Jim smiled as Spock cautiously gazed back at him.

“Humans have never been good at being exact when it comes to feelings. I don’t think we ever will be. What I feel for you cannot be defined by my language. You are my finest officer. You are one my closest friends. The faith we have in each other makes us closer than brothers. It is all these kinds of love, and not one unique from them, that have made my heart belong to you, and you alone.”

From there, Jim did not know where to go. Spock stared at him as if to seek out his soul, and Jim wasn’t sure if he should apologize, or run for his life.

“You mean this sincerely?”

Jim had no idea what kind of answer Spock wanted, only that his unwavering gaze meant he did want something. His hand, he recognized, was still touching Spock’s wrist. He should let go.

“Yes. I know it’s not very objective, but I don’t have any other way to explain—”

Spock caught his hand as he pulled away.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” he said. His dark eyes glowed, the green flush of his cheeks was quite beautiful.

Jim could not begin to decipher what that meant. Even so, a blossom of _acceptance, agreement, love_ unfurled in the back of his mind at its very syllable.

“The _t’hy’la_ bond describes what you have expressed. A friend, a brother, a lover.” Spock glanced down their hands, moved his so that their palms were touching. “In human terms, one might refer to _t’hy’laras_ as soul mates.”

Warmth swept across Jim’s face, yet he was not embarrassed. There was something incredibly intimate about being hand in hand with Spock, something thrilling, too.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Jim whispered. Spock took a shaking breath, he nodded. “You called me that last night, when I…”

And he realized what this meant. It was so perfectly simple, and yet it was like the discovery of fire, a bright and burning surge of wonder.

“You love me.” He laughed breathlessly, incredulous, so infinitely joyful. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” There appeared a small smile on his lips. “I do.”

Spock brushed his first two fingers across Jim’s – a flutter of affection danced through the contact. When Jim gasped, Spock lifted an eyebrow, rather teasingly.

“I believe Starfleet regulation recommends a captain and their first officer should avoid such feelings.”

Jim grinned. “A recommendation is entirely different from a restriction, Mr. Spock.”

“So you have taught me, _t’hy’la_.”

The name made Jim feel as if he could fly. Their fingertips brushing, waves of affection crashed over him, and he no longer knew or cared if it was his, Spock’s, or a wonderful mixture.

“I love you. Spock, I love you. Why have I never told you before how much I love you?”

There was no reply, or at least, not in words. Spock met his kiss gently.

It was not the kind of kiss seen in holomovies. No rolling off the bed, no wild passion, no sighs of pleasure. In fact, it was quite ordinary, quite simple, even a little shy. But his mind was ringing with the harmony of its perfect match. 

“Jim.” The word was a rush of air, warm and pooling on his lips.

“Is this alright?” he murmured, feeling too warm and dazed from the kiss to open his eyes. He brushed his lips across Spock’s cheek. “If I’m moving too fast, please tell me.”

“ _T’hy’la_.”

Jim was pulled forward, felt Spock’s lips capture his own in a deeper kiss. This one was exploratory, their hands trekking across each other’s shoulders, down the length of their backs. Spock’s palms mapped the spread of his thighs as Jim climbed atop him, tracing the line of Spock’s neck with his hands, his fingertips. It was just as gentle, just as tender as the first, and yet much more. 

Only when his lungs were gasping for air did Jim dare escape from the loveliness that was Spock’s kiss. They clung to each other for a moment, as if to let go was more than physical, as if this new affection could vanish if not held fast.

“ _Ashayam_ ,” Spock whispered against his jaw, sounding breathless. “ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular,_ Jim  _t’nash-veh_.” 

“Spock. God, I love you.” Jim pressed another kiss to his lips. “I should have told you that a long time ago.”

“I am satisfied you chose this moment.” 

Spock removed one of his hands from where they had been locked with Jim’s, brought it to stroke his cheek.

“When I think how reluctant I have been to tell you of my affection—”

“What?” Jim pulled away, sitting back on Spock’s lap. “You too? When were you going to tell me?”

“Numerous times.” Spock glanced down, perhaps a bit bashful, though passing it off gallantly by intertwining their fingers again. “As of late, the exact number became too often to merit recording. I confess I did not anticipate you had developed such strength of feelings toward me. In fact, I calculated the likelihood of reciprocation at only seventy two percent.”  

“Only seventy-two percent?” Jim giggled, leaning into Spock’s shoulder. “My calculations were much lower. I thought you’d hate me if I told you. I thought you’d throw me out an airlock.”

“Certainly not.” He sounded offended by the suggestion. “I could never hate you, or wish to perform a violent act against you. Surely you know—”

“Sweetheart.” Jim pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m exaggerating. I’m very illogical, and I love you completely.”

“That knowledge is gratifying.” Spock produced a small hum of pleasure, as Jim continued with their affections. “I can sympathize with your concerns. I possessed my own misgivings about your potential to return my devotion.”

“Even at seventy two percent, huh?” Jim settled himself into his arms. “It seems we both suffer from the same oversight.”

“Indeed.”

“Yours weren’t as bad as my airlock one, I hope?”

“I thought you might submit me for a transfer.”

Jim laughed. “Now you’re the one exaggerating, Mr. Spock.”

“I am not, unfortunately.” Spock’s fingertips brushed the fine hairs at the back of Jim’s neck. “I spent the past hour and forty minutes preparing a counter argument in the event you demanded my immediate removal from duty.”

“What?” Jim sat up. “You thought I’d—?” The very idea cut Jim to the heart. That Spock had been twice as worried – being pushed away, dismissed, _transfered_? Jim could hardly stand the thought.

He searched Spock’s eyes for confirmation, and found it readily available.

"Encouraging the affections of one’s first officer does not adhere to captain’s protocol. Our present engagement in romantic behavior is in fact reprehensible by Starfleet regulation.”

Jim leaned forward, fully intending to flout exactly that piece of regulation, but Spock placed a hand on his chest.

“There is no need to flatter me. I present a sizable risk to your career. I appreciate this affection, quite deeply, but should you wish it to end—”

“Fuck Starfleet.” When Spock glanced back at him with a startled lift of his brow, Jim amended, “For the moment, anyhow. Pretend it doesn’t exist. That there’s nothing to stop us. What is it that you’d want?”

Spock hesitated, then curled his hand around Jim’s waiting one. “I wish only to be with you, in whatever way possible. And, with your consent, I would prefer for you to desire me in return.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile.

“However, it would be foolish, Jim, to act without acknowledgement of our context, and the barriers before us. I do not presume to dictate your affairs, as I am certain you do not presume authority over mine.”

Spock drew a lingering caress down his cheek.

“You are not obligated to me. You would not be happy without Starfleet.”

“Or you, Spock.” Jim pressed a kiss to his palm. “Don’t you see?”

“I begin to.” A softness had entered Spock’s eyes. “You are certain in your decision?”

“Positive.”

Spock seemed to free a long held breath, and brought Jim's hand briefly to his lips.  

“May I admit to an emotion?”

“Of course.”

“I have been concerned you would choose an alternate course.” There was pain in his voice, this seemed particularly difficult to admit. “Or that…that you would find romantic purpose for me briefly but have no intention of maintaining a long term commitment.”

That hurt him more than he could say. “Oh, Spock! No!”

“I know it is illogical now…” he murmured, but raised no defense as Jim pulled him into his arms.

“You mean more to me than any damn regulation, understand?” he murmured between kisses. Spock pulled him closer – Jim squeezed back. “How many other stupid regulations have we overturned? We always figure it out.”

“There does seem to be a precedent for our success in that field,” was his muffled reply, pressed tightly to Jim’s shoulder.

“See? Neither of us is going anywhere. You’re stickin’ with me, sweetheart, and that’s an order.”

From within his arms, a small hum of contentment. “Yes, captain.”

“I love you.” Jim had no intention of letting go. “I’ve missed so many opportunities to tell you. I love you so damn much.”

“I love you in equal measure.”

Jim smiled, pulled away to look at the man he loved. “ _T’hy’la,_ ” he murmured, hoping he got the pronunciation correct. “May I call you that?”

Apparently he had, for Spock’s cheeks turned mint green, and he nodded with a degree of bashfulness.

“Certainly you may, it is only logical. I wonder..." He seemed to briefly reconsider, then gathered his courage. "I would like to use one of your Terran devotions in return, if you would be amenable.”

“I’d be flattered, Mr. Spock. What strikes your fancy?”

The smallest smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

“Sweetheart.”

And that simply made Jim melt.

*

 

They made it to beta shift.

It surprised Jim how normal everything seemed. The Bridge hadn't changed a single iota. Chekov and Sulu were bickering at the helm, Mr. Scott muttering about circuitry patterns under his breath, Uhura humming the same song she’d had stuck in her head yesterday. Their mission - he'd reconsidered the agricultural assignment that Komack suggested - remained the same, so too the inky black before them, the pull of the stars.

But yet, hadn’t everything changed?

Looking to Spock, he wondered how they could have been in each other’s arms not half an hour ago. Now, it seemed as if that new bud of feeling was gone, the wall of duty built between them once more. And how could that be? How could they suddenly return to the familiar, the everyday?

Spock’s dark eyes turned onto his.

There, within its depths, was their duty, their friendship, and now, their love. Yet, he recognized them all too quickly, too well for that affection to have formed just this morning.

Of course. Jim realized his folly. After all, he had loved Spock just the same, longer than he could say.  

“Do you require something, captain?” He could hear the tenderness hidden behind the careful formality now, wondered why he never had before.

“Why, no, Mr. Spock.” Jim smiled. “I have everything I want.”

Nothing had changed. It had simply been spoken aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, last chapter! Sincerest thanks to everyone who's left a comment, you guys make me smile and your encouragements are very much appreciated. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first fic on AO3, so please leave kudos/comment if you liked it. You can rant to me about Star Trek and Spirk at my Tumblr: fictionandtheatre.tumblr.com


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